


The Vatican Affair

by mrua7



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Conspiracy, Flirting, Gen, Guards, Guns, Having Faith, Improper Use of Catholic Rituals, Latin, Nuns, Partnership, Priests, Roma | Rome, Spies & Secret Agents, THRUSH, Undercover, Vatican
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-09
Updated: 2019-01-09
Packaged: 2019-10-06 18:27:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 17,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17350319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrua7/pseuds/mrua7
Summary: Napoleon and Illya are sent to Rome to stop possible THRUSH interference in one of the Catholic church's most sacred rituals; the election of a new Pope.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Some characters were based upon members of the College of Cardinals

 

It was an overcast day as Alexander Waverly stood looking out the narrow windows of his conference room.

“Looks like rain,” he muttered to himself, giving him pause to cancel his lunch at the club. There was nothing pressing to make him need to go there, no chess game in progress; sadly many of his acquaintances were disappearing one by one. Not in the mysterious sense, as they were simply dying of some wretched disease or merely old age.

Still he himself felt healthy and hale but supposed when he stopped moving, stopped working at this monumental job, he’d probably give up the ghost and move on to the great beyond.

Today though, he didn’t feel up to his usual snuff, as his bones were aching a bit. He put it off to the weather and tried to ignore his thoughts about his late contemporaries bringing down his spirits.

His agents thought he never slept and at times that seemed true, but being young they didn’t realize that the older you get, the less sleep a person needs. They’d learn that fact eventually and there was no need for him to let them in on the secret, especially Solo.

He’d make a fine CCO when the time came, despite his proclivities when it came to the fairer sex. It was Alexander’s hope that Napoleon would eventually slow down in that respect, though he suspected the man wouldn’t just yet. Once he assumed the position of Continental Chief for U.N.C.L.E. Northwest he’d be permitted to marry, if that was at all possible with the man.

He could understand Solo’s eye for the opposite sex as Waverly was a bit of a ladies man in his day, but that was a different time. Decent women didn’t throw themselves at a man, and the courtship between them was more of a delicate nature. Oh there was still the pursuit, and what a wonderful thing that was.

Women today were different, so independent. They knew what they wanted and went after it, and that just wasn’t in regards to a man. They were out there in all sorts of professions now, performing their jobs with great efficiency.

They weren’t just homemakers, sales clerks and secretaries; they were becoming doctors, lawyers and other such occupations,  breaking down the barriers between the sexes as it were, through something called the ‘Women’s Liberation movement.’

“Brava,” Waverly thought to himself. That was exactly why he’d requested that females be recruited to UNCLE and not in the capacity of file clerks and such, no he wanted a female field agent.

He found that agent in April Dancer and now he knew it was time to find more such capable women to join the Section II ranks, though Section I was still fighting him on the idea.

THRUSH was ahead of the Command in that respect, having numerous women functioning as agents for the nefarious organization; he be damned if the birds were going to out do UNCLE. Having female operatives was one of the few ideas they’d hit upon that wasn’t hairbrained in his estimation.

Still finding women to recruit to UNCLE wasn’t the easiest of tasks. He wondered how THRUSH was able find so many willing cohorts in crime from the ranks of the ladies?

The allure of wealth and power were the carrots that were dangled he supposed, whereas UNCLE could only offer a decent salary and lots of danger along with little hope for retirement. Real retirement, and not some exploding gold watch that waited for some foolish lackeys of THRUSH who believed the balderdash that the Hierarchy and their upper echelon fed to their people.

The Old man looked up from his thoughts as the pneumatic doors opened and his top team of Section II agents entered his office, having responded to his summons.

“Gentlemen, thank you for being so prompt,” his voice was not to its usual strength as he walked over and sat at his conference table in front of a small console, seemingly distracted.

“Please be seated.” He cleared his throat as flicked the switch to his intercom, speaking to his assistant. “You’ll excuse me if I let Miss Rogers brief you as I am a bit under the weather.” Waverly buzzed the intercom to his assistant.

“Yes sir?” Lisa Rogers answered.

“If you could be so kind as to come in and brief Messrs. Solo and Kuryakin, my voice is not feeling up to it.

“Right away sir.”

The doors opened and in walked Lisa carrying a tray with a teapot, along with china cups and saucers.  She placed it on the table beside her boss and poured him a piping hot cup of tea, offering cups to the agents as well.

“Rosehips, sir. I just added a little honey as it tastes a bit tart, but it’s good for your throat. It has vitamin C in it.”

“Thank you Miss Rogers, what would I do without you?”

He took a sip of his tea with a sigh of satisfaction. Miss Rogers was a fully capable agent, and had turned down a position in the field to become his assistant.  

Waverly thought it a bit greedy on his part, as he could have insisted she become a Section II agent, but dash it all, she made a fine cup of tea, and seemed to be telepathic when it came to his needs. She was also a fine sounding board when he needed to discuss a particular situation that had erupted somewhere in the world.

Still, he’d requested she transfer to Section II, as she’d graduated at the top of her class in Survival School, but Miss Rogers declined.  She felt she better served the organization as his assistant.

Still there was a female agent in the London office who had been promoted to the field. Waverly had his eye on her, though she was a bit of an upstart with a chip on her shoulder. He thought, once the calmed, she would set a good example like Miss Dancer to help recruit other ladies to the field...much to the consternation of Section I.

At the moment, there seemed to be some difficulty with her regarding Harry Beldon, and Alexander knew he needed to keep a close eye on the developing situation. *

 

“Sir, going home and letting Mrs. Waverly tend to you would be a good start,” Lisa chided her boss.

The Old Man cast her a warning glance as sometimes she did overstep her bounds, though in the end Alexander found it a bit amusing.

It was if his wife Estelle were standing there at times. He reminded himself to check the phone logs to see if his wife had been in communication with his assistant; it wouldn’t surprise him it at all if the two women were in cahoots.

“Yes Mr. Solo, Mr. Kuryakin,” Lisa began, handing them their folders. “As you may already be aware, Pope John XXIII passed away on June third at the age of 81, and the Roman Catholic church is now preparing for the arrival of the College of Cardinals in Rome to elect the new Pontiff.  Intelligence sources have indicated that one of the Cardinals who is among the group considered to be frontrunners to be elected Pope is a member of T.H.R.U.S.H.”

Napoleon cast a wide-eyed glance at his partner.

“If this man were to be elected to the office of the Pope and head of the Catholic church, his influence could be catastrophic. He could exert influences over the faithful and attempt to change their belief systems, not to mention he would have access to the tremendous wealth of the Vatican.”

Waverly cleared his throat, as a gentle reminder to his assistant.

“Oh yes, it was Cardinal Spellerman who first called our attention to the possible infiltrator from THRUSH.”

“Cardinal Spellerman, here in New York?” Napoleon asked with raised eyebrows. "He's aware of the Hierarchy?"

“Yes, the Cardinal and I are well acquainted. We get together now and then for a casual game of chess at his home,” Waverly coughed.

“Do we know the identity of this so-called infiltrator?” Illya asked, jotting down some notes on a yellow legal pad as was his habit during a briefing.

Waverly nodded to Lisa.”No Mr. Kuryakin.That is the purpose of your and Mr. Solo’s assignment. You are to pose as priests and enter the good graces of the conclave to find the culprit or culprits."

“Pardon me,” Napoleon said,”I was raised Catholic and it’s my understanding that ordinary priests were excluded. The conclave is the purview of the College of Cardinals.”

Lisa looked to her boss, not sure how to address that.

Waverly cleared his throat again,”I will answer this Miss Rogers. His eminence, Cardinal Spellerman has informed me that each Cardinal can bring up to two conclavist assistants who are permitted to be present. They are of course, sworn to secrecy as well. Rather than assigning you both to one cardinal it was decided that you, Mr. Solo, will be the assistant to Cardinal Spellerman.  Mr. Kuryakin, you are to report to one Cardinal Szymon Wiśniewski of Poland. He is Cardinal Spellerman’s friend and is the only other person, outside of those present in this room, who is aware of the situation.

“Any questions gentleman?” Lisa stepped in, pouring more tea for her boss as he began to cough again.

“None at the moment,” Napoleon, after looking to his partner, answered for the both of them.

“Then here are your tickets to Rome,” she handed them over.” Wardrobe will supply the appropriate clothing, and you are to travel in character, wearing your priest’s collars, with cassocks to be worn once you reach the Vatican. Cardinals Spellerman and Wiśniewski are expecting you and will brief you on the presumed leading candidates for the position of Pope. Oh and in your briefing folder is the passcode to be used. His Eminence Cardinal Spellerman insisted on one.”

“Good luck gentlemen and keep me informed,”Waverly wheezed.

“I think it’s time you headed up to Medical sir,” Lisa prompted.”And no arguments.”

It was no use tilting with the woman as she was right.

“Very well,” he turned to his agents, waving them off. “Now what are you waiting for...dismissed.”

Solo and Kuryakin left promptly, tucking their airline tickets in their breast pockets.

“Well aren’t you the lucky one?” Napoleon smirked.

“Why is that?”

“As a priest you get to still dress in your favorite color…”

“Hmm, how fortuitous,” Illya let go a smile.”And by the way, I remind you that black is not considered a color.”

“What?”

“Black is the absence of color and is therefore not a color.”

Napoleon shook his head,” And I suppose you’re going to tell me white isn’t a color either?”

“White is an achromatic color, that is a color without hue. The color of a tangible object is the result of pigments or molecular coloring agents. For example, the color of a red apple is the result of molecular coloring agents on the surface of the apple. Also, a painting of a red apple is the result of red pigments used to create the image.”

Solo shook his head at his encyclopedic partner; his head was just full of unimportant facts...well, important ones too.

“Tovarish, do you actually know what a conclavist is?”

The word _conclavist_ comes from _conclave_  which is derived from the Latin  _cum clave_ , meaning  ‘with a key. The term evolved during the thirteenth century and was formalized by Pope Gregory X's _Ubi periculum_ in 1274 during the Second Council of Lyon. The procedure of locking in the papal electors was intermittently used until, and exclusively used after 1294... “

“Illya?”

“Yes Napoleon?”

“Enough already, please?”

The Russian snickered to himself, knowing he’d annoyed his partner; he always enjoyed getting his digs in when he could.

 

* Ref to [“The Mind Control Affair”  ](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/6809035/1/The-Mind-Control-Affair) (an AU story)

 


	2. Chapter 2

The next evening they were dropped off by taxi at the Trans World Airlines terminal at Kennedy airport. It had just been completed the year before and its sleek modern look was quite a sight.

The arc-like traveling hub was designed to symbolize a bird's spread wings in mid-air, in order to fulfill the airline's directive, which they stated was to 'capture the spirit of flight.'

Construction on the airport hub lasted six years, and upon completion it was celebrated as an architectural masterpiece.

 

The designer, a Finnish-American architect names Eero Saarinen spoke in a previous interview, “'We wanted passengers passing through the building to experience a fully-designed environment in which each part arises from another and everything belongs to the same formal world.'

The sweeping open designs did just that, and both agents couldn’t help but stare, captivated by the large open spaces.

Boarding was finally called with Napoleon and Illya now in their guise as priests; they walked along the jetway where they were greeted at the entrance to the plane by a shapely blonde stewardess in her flatteringly crisp blue uniform.

She directed them to the location of their seats and instructed them to place their carry on luggage in the overhead compartments. Since a priest’s wardrobe was so minimal, that was the only suitcase they each needed.

The agents settled in, with Illya sitting next to the window, and Napoleon in the aisle seat beside him. After the pre-flight announcements and safely demonstrations by the stewardesses the jet plane made a gentle takeoff.

They were finally winging their way to Rome, economy of course. Posing as members of the Catholic clergy who had taken vows of poverty fell right in line with the austere travel arrangements of U.N.C.L.E. so not enjoying first class travel was standard bill of fare for them.

Being dressed as priests had its pluses and minuses; for Illya it was about being left alone as no one seemed to want to bother a member of the clergy, for Napoleon...well, it was another matter being cut off from his ability to flirt and arrange dates with the lovely ladies on board the plane.

The American smiled at a pretty brunette stewardess as she walked down the aisle offering magazines, that was until Illya sharply elbowed him in the ribs.

“Owww. What’d you do that for?”

“You were flirting, remember you are a priest who has taken a vow of celibacy,” Illya practically hissed at him.

“Hey, I can’t help it, I go on automatic when I see a pretty girl,” Napoleon shrugged.

“Well if you are not careful, you will blow our cover even before we make it to Rome. So rein it in if you please?”

“Well can I at least have a drink? I don’t think priests have to take the pledge.”

Illya peered over the top of his magazine, flashing his best frigid look.

“Hello Fathers,” greeted the other stewardess, a blonde this time, looking quite attractive in her crisp blue uniform pencil skirt, white blouse and short matching blue jacket; the new uniform for Trans-World.

“What can I get you to drink?”

“Tea,” Illya spoke up first,”If you have some seedless raspberry jam to sweeten it, that would be wonderful,” the sound of his voice had changed, and Solo knew the Russian was immersing himself in his role.

“I recognize that accent father, you’re Polish aren’t you?”

“Yes my child, is it that obvious?”

 _“Moja babcia była Polska. My grandmother was Polish,_ ” she repeated in English for the other priest’s sake as he didn’t look like he’d understood.

 _“Gdzie w Polsce?_ ” Illya asked.

“Oh she was from Warsaw but got out just as the war, well you know. The rest of the family died, it was terrible.”

“As did mine,” Illya bowed his head; for once he wasn’t lying as part of his cover. He looked up at her and made the sign of the cross with his right hand, blessing her.

_“Błogosławię was moje dziecko.”_

_“Thank you Father.”_

She turned her attention to Napoleon.”Oh I’m sorry Father, I wasn’t ignoring you...what would you like to drink?”

Napoleon smiled at her, suddenly putting on a bit of an Irish accent.

“Coffee would be grand but I wouldn’t suppose you could put a wee bit of whush-ky in it, could you now?” He asked her so innocently.

“Oh sounds like you want Irish coffee,”she winked. “I think we could manage that for you. Would you like it in a glass or a mug?”

“Oh darlin’ a mug would be fine.”

She disappeared down the aisle towards the galley.

“Laying it on a bit thick. Since when did you get so good at playing a priest?” Napoleon whispered.

“I watched the movies ‘Going my way’ and the ‘Bells of St. Mary’s’ last night in our conference room. Section IV had the films on file,”Illya answered without batting an eye.

Napoleon found that quite amusing. “You better not start crooning like der Bingle.”

“Der Bingle? What is that?”

“Not what, who. It’s a nickname for Bing Crosby.”

Illya shrugged. “By the way, your Irish accent was a mistake seeing as how your cover name is for a priest of Italian ancestry, I suggest you be a bit more careful my friend,” he chided.

“You know you can be a pain in the ass sometimes,”Solo whispered out of the side of his mouth.

“Father Cesare, please your language,” Illya snickered.

“Fine, going forward I’ll be more careful, Scouts honor tovar...Father Kumiega. By the way, what’s your first name, I don’t recall you telling me?”

“I kept my own name, just the spelling changes to Ilia.”

“Good then I won’t slip up.”

“Tell me you did not keep Napoleon?” Illya’s eyes went wide at the thought.

“Very funny. No my first name is Nero, Nero Antony Cesare.”

“Oh classic, and an interesting choice.”Illya said. “According to Christian tradition, Simon Peter, one of the twelve apostles, was crucified in Rome under Emperor _Nero_ Augustus Caesar. He was distinguished by Jesus to hold the place of honor and authority as the first Bishop of Rome, in essence the first Pope. Furthermore, they consider every Pope to be Peter's successor. To quote the bible,’ _And I also say to you that you are Peter...which means rock, and upon this rock I will build My church; and the gates of Hades shall not overpower it.’_

Napoleon as always, was amazed if not sometimes annoyed at how his partner immersed himself on a subject that related to an assignment, though he wouldn’t acknowledge it, as it would only add fuel to the fire.

“Yes Illya I know, I’m Catholic remember, though granted I haven’t been to church in awhile. As to my name, I think it has panache, but if you want you can call me Antony or Tony,” Napoleon whispered as the stewardess brought their coffee and tea.

“Fathers I assumed you’ll be having the fish for dinner?” The stewardess smiled at them.

Both men suddenly drew a blank, their eyes widened, unblinking.

“It’ll be supper time just as we cross the international date line, and Friday,” she laughed at their apparent confusion.

“Oh yes right,” Napoleon recovered first.”I forgot about the date line. You must forgive us, we are both heading to Rome for the conclave as we are assistants to two of the cardinals. It was such a shock, the loss of his Holiness the Pope and now we must rush to get to the Holy City in time.”

“Oh my goodness! I know it’s so sad the passing of Pope John.”

“Yes it is my child, yet still there is great hope and excitement in the election of the new Pope who will carry the church forward into the future.” Napoleon did all he could to keep from flirting, but wow...her eyes were gorgeous.

Still he knew he needed to keep his mind on the assignment. THRUSH was planning to take over the papacy, and have one of their own named Pope, the trouble was they didn’t know who that man was. It was their job to find out and prevent his election.

“Say Father, didn’t you just have an Irish accent?” The stewardess seemed confused.

Illya jumped in with an explanation.’Father Cesare is quite the joker and was merely having a little fun since he was ordering Irish coffee.”

“Oh…” she gave Napoleon an odd look before walking away to tend to the other passengers.

“Guess she’s only met priests like you and never one with a sense of humor,” Napoleon chuckled.

“Very funny.”

Their flight landed without incident at Fiumicino Airport in Rome. They had only their carry on valises so there was no need to collect any other luggage.

They changed in the men’s room to their flowing black cassocks and walked through the airport not being given a second glance.

Their assignment to find the presumed T.H.R.U.S.H. infiltrator in the College of Cardinals at the Vatican was going to be a tricky one.

Though the two cardinals were expecting the UNCLE agents, no special transportation arrangements had been made; Napoleon and Illya found themselves hunting down a taxi at the airport.

They weren’t having much luck as Rome was being inundated with travelers both religious and well as reporters from myriads of news agencies. They were all heading to fill St. Peter’s Square where the election process of a new Pope was viewed.

That consisted of watching what color smoke emanated from a simple chimney above the Sistine Chapel. Black smoke, no pope had been elected, white smoke there was a new _il Papa,_ meaning the father of the Catholic church.

A sea of people had already filled Via Della Conciliazione boulevard about half a mile away from the facade of St. Peter's Basilica at the Vatican where they would await the arrival of the lines of cardinals and watch as they would make their way to the the Sistine Chapel, and there they would cast their votes for the next Pope.

The boulevard and St. Peter’s Square had been filled only days before for the the body of the late Pontiff as it was carried across the square into the Basilica for public viewing. John XXIII, who reigned from 1958 to 1963, was known as the Good Pope because of his benevolent and jovial nature. He made ecclesiastical history by convening the Second Vatican Council which brought the Catholic Church up to date with modern times.

With thousands of mourners outside hoping for a glimpse of the body, twelve pallbearers flanked by Swiss Guards carried the late pontiff's body on a crimson platform from the Sala Clementina, where it had lain in state since the previous day.  

An official mourning period of nine days, the Novemdiales, known as the rites of interment, had begun when the Pope died. The day of his death was counted as the first day and on each of these nine days the Mass said by each Cardinal was a funeral rite for the Pope.

Prior to his burial, and following private rites in the Sistine Chapel, the Pope was laid in state in St. Peter's Basilica, permitting the faithful to pay their respects. Between the fourth and sixth day after his death which was the 5th, 6th or 7th day of the mourning period, a Solemn Funeral was celebrated in the Basilica by the Dean of the College of Cardinals, with the other Cardinals.

The Pope was interred in the crypt beneath St. Peter's. The mourning period then continued until the nine days were completed.

The days after the funeral and before the Conclave began offered the Cardinals an opportunity to discuss the state of the Church. They were not do so in a manner which constituted politicking or electioneering for office or for votes.

Those discussions Napoleon and Illya would not be privy to as they had arrived just before the start of the conclave.

Luckily the U.N.C.L.E. agents would be staying at the Vatican since here in Rome as Napoleon put it, ’there was no room at the inn.’

They decided to hoof it and started walking, eventually a farmer with a lorry full of noisy pigs being taken to market picked them up and got them as close to the city as possible.

They said nothing to the driver about being involved with the election of the new Pope, and the conversation was limited to the passing of the former Pontiff, and the cost of feeding pigs, the raising of pigs, getting them onto the truck, among other things.

“Bless you,” Napoleon said in Italian when their ride ended Napoleon made the sign of the cross, as the driver blessed himself.

_“Grazie Padre.”_

Once dropped off, again the agents needed to walk to the Vatican, and along the way Napoleon made sure he wore his capello romano, a brimmed hat generally worn by Italian priests.  

Illya wore nothing on his head, letting his blond hair blow in the sunny breeze. Periodically he would tug at his collar as it wasn’t comfortable like his black turtleneck.

Solo was bringing up the rear, following his partner but his pace slowed as one beautiful beautiful olive-skinned signoria after another strolled past him.

The last one he couldn’t help himself and his head swivel as he grinned at a dark haired girl wearing a flowing red dress and high heels. He started to turn, having gone on automatic pursuit.

 

“Father!” Illya called. Getting no reaction, he tried again even louder. _“FATHER CESARE!”_

That got Solo’s attention and he spun around, catching up to his partner.

“Will you please stop ogling the women Napoleon?” Illya hissed. “I say again, you will blow our covers.”

“I couldn’t help myself. Did you see those gams?” Solo whispered.

“Gams, what are gams? Please do not tell me it is yet another crude term for a woman’s breasts?”

“Noooo,” Napoleon flashed him the look. It was a unique combination of pursed lips, a crinkled nose and narrowed eyes.

“Gams, my dear Father Kumiega, is a word reminiscent  of the noir crime novels and films of the 1930s and 40s and the hardboiled patois of Raymond Chandler, Dashiell Hammett among others. In this sense however, it is actually considerably older, dating back to at least the late 18th century.  The word began as underworld slang, originally referred to the leg. Possibly a more straightforward origin simply traces it to the Italian word gamba, which as you know means leg.”

Kuryakin, known for his linguistic prowess was impressed, so much so that he was left speechless for once.

“What no snide remark?”

“No.” Kuryakin’s eyebrows raised.

“Good, now let’s get going.” Napoleon tucked his red prayer book under his arm and took the lead now.

He strode down the sidewalk wearing a smirk, quite pleased that he’d impressed his partner into silence.

Illya was now bringing up the rear; it was better he to do that and keep Napoleon from going astray _...again._

Despite his partner's womanizing, Kuryakin knew that Napoleon would always put the mission to the forefront regardless of his libido.  Luckily, once they were inside the Vatican there would be little to no temptation for Solo...in a way Illya found that a relief and just sightly amusing.

 

 

 

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

The priestly attired agents finally made it to St. Peter’s Square within Vatican city and slowly maneuvered their way through the throngs of people gathered there.

Solo and Kuryakin’s destination was actually northeast of St. Peter’s Basilica, next to the Bastion of Nicholas V and the Palace of Gregory XIII. The Apostolic Palace was a complex comprised of several Papal Apartments, the Vatican Museums, some of the Catholic Church’s government offices, the Vatican Library, and a number of both private and public chapels among other buildings. Generally, there were over 1000 rooms within it.

Despite the Apostolic Palace name, it was not merely the pope's residence. It was also used for other administrative functions of the Holy See. There were several administrative offices there which were used government functions of the Vatican State. In many ways the Apostolic Palace could be compared with the White House.

Once showing their passes which allowed them access, Napoleon and Illya were directed to Cardinal Spellerman’s apartments.

They’d never met the man nor he them; the agents however, had their prearranged passcode. It was more for the comfort of the Cardinal than Solo and Kuryakin.

They knocked on the door and waited.

“Who is it?” A rather cheerful voice answered.

“Mr. Oliver and Mr. Hardy sir.”

“Well tut-tut-tut-tut-tar-utt,” came the response and the door was opened to them.

“Welcome gentlemen, you must pardon the humor, but it’s needed from time to time.”

The Cardinal stood smiling, yet clothed in his regal robes as well as a heavy gold ecclesiastical cross containing five large emerald-cut emeralds.

Napoleon had seen him from a distance while attending Mass at St. Patrick’s Cathedral back in New York. He always stayed at the back of the church, as the agent training made him want to be by a door for a quick getaway. It was habit, and not a conscious decision on his part.

Cardinal Spellerman was a portly bespectacled, jowly looking man who some thought was rather cherubic and humble.

He had a ready smile but behind his seemingly pius façade there was a shrewd, almost ruthless player on the world stage of religion and politics; he had no qualms about fighting to get what he wanted.

He’d been described as fearless, tireless, and shrewd, but at the same time humble, whimsical, sentimental, thoughtful, supremely loyal but, above all, a true priest.  

Julius Cardinal Spellerman was complex individual who was both a seeker and wielder of power; others playing the same game had to take that into account and respect him.  

There was another side to the man of which Illya was unaware, the Cardinal showed that as much as he loved the red of the cardinal’s robe, he loved the red, white and blue. He was an ardent American patriot, and staunchly anti-Communist. He’d been a fervent supporter of Joseph McCarthy.

Napoleon suspected that in part influenced the decision to have Illya work with the Polish Cardinal, even though Spellerman could have had the two of them as his conclavists.

 

The Cardinal offered his right hand to the American, and Napoleon genuflected on his left knee, kissing the large gold and emerald ring.

His Catholic upbringing told him it was proper etiquette to use the left knee, as the right knee was reserved for God and the left, for God's workers. It was just a quick movement, a sign of respect and honor.

It came from the days of kings and queens, but the Catholic Church was a Hierarchy, ( a good one and not like the Hierarchy of T.H.R.U.S.H.) so the Pope was the equivalent of an emperor, the cardinals- kings, and the bishops- lords.  

It was a sign of great reverence towards the men who had given their lives to the Church. By kneeling before these representatives and kissing their rings, which was the symbol of their authority, one acknowledged their appointments by Christ Himself and showed respect to Jesus who dwells within them.

This symbolic gesture toward an authority was no different than when Americans rise when their President enters a room, or when the British rise when the Queen of England, or when any head of any state entered a room.

Here in Italy the papacy was the closest thing there was to a monarchy.

 

“Napoleon Solo, your Eminence, though for our mission I am Father Nero Cesare your assistant from New York.”

He rose quickly, and stepped aside for his partner, but Illya didn’t kneel, nor did the Cardinal extend his hand to him.

“My partner your Eminence, this is Mr. Illya Kuryakin, however his cover name for our assignment is Father Ilia Kumiega.”

The Cardinal nodded,“I hope you weren’t offended that I did not offer you my ring. It is my understanding that you are an atheist Mr. Kuryakin.”

“No offense taken your Eminence. I attended Orthodox services as a child but that was... a lifetime ago. The Great Patriotic war saw an end to those beliefs, as did my upbringing by the Soviet system.”

“I understand you were orphaned my son. You’ll have to pardon me, but I felt a little homework on my part was in order.”

“That is correct. An orphan has no need for god when you are scrounging for food and worrying about bullies stealing your meal, or how many beatings they will give you for not surrendering it. There was no savior to come to your aid, or answers to prayers whispered in desperation.”

“Ahh, but that is the past young man and we should all be willing open to open our hearts to the possibility that there is indeed God the father, Jesus His only Son as well as the Holy Spirit to watch over us. The Holy Trinity is a matter of faith, believing in something you cannot see, but surely we can see God all around us each day when the sun rises, when the birds fly and the flowers bloom. God is the artist and we all are a part of His great canvas. He works in mysterious ways, ways that we cannot understand and are not meant to do so. Things happen for a reason and we must have faith as to why, as well as their outcome.”

Napoleon tensed up, thinking his partner and the Cardinal were going to end up in some sort of heated discussion on the existence of God.

He watched as Illya merely nodded before finally speaking.

”We each have our ways and if there is a god, I think he is laughing at our concerns over who believes in him and who does not. In the end, you believe when we leave this world that it will be up to the divine creator who decides who is deserving of entering heaven, regardless of what a person has done or said. If a man who does not believe in god lives a good life, does good deeds and is kind to others, will he not be judged as deserving of heaven...if it exists? The next man who believes in god, goes to church every Sunday but was not so good or kind to his fellow man, what of him? Would he be deserving as well simply because he believed in god and attended services?”

“Why Mr. Kuryakin, if I didn’t know better, I might suspect that you still have a bit of a belief in a higher power left in you, but that is neither here nor there. We have to sit down and talk about the candidates for the papacy. That is our main concern for now.”

“Agreed sir,” Illya nodded.

Napoleon breathed a sigh of relief just as knock sounded on the Cardinal’s door.

A heavily accented voice called, just above a whisper.

“Julius, it is Wiśniewski.”

Napoleon, after receiving a nod of approval from Spellerman quickly opened the door and let in the Cardinal.

“Gentlemen, may I present Szymon Cardinal Wiśniewski, of Poland.”

He was silver haired, and had rather hawkish features, but his steely grey eyes reminded Napoleon very much of his partner’s visage.

The same protocol was followed in greeting the Polish prelate, as both agents were introduced and instead of offering his ring to Illya, he spoke to him in Russian and exchanged pleasantries as well as shook hands with Kuryakin.

Illya was well aware of the man’s anti-communist sentiments, and given his own change in outlook on the subject of the Soviet Union, he felt the cardinal’s beliefs were not unwarranted, though surprisingly nationalistic for a man of the cloth.

The cardinal had pronounced ten years prior that ‘ _the fate of communism would not be decided in Russia, but in Poland. When she became strong in her faith she would start to destroy communism and win over it.  The whole world would be grateful to Poland for that.’_

Kuryakin kept those thoughts to himself, as he was not here to judge the man nor get into any political discussions with him; they were here to stop the Hierarchy from taking control of one of the most powerful and widespread organizations in the entire world, and that was the Catholic Church.

If THRUSH were able to infiltrate the church, they could influence the way people thought and believed little by little, and have the coffers through which to do it.

 

“Now that we’re all here, let’s have a drink, sit down and go over who’s thought to be the favored _papabile._ ”

Cardinal Spellerman poured a scotch for himself and Szymon, but the agents declined.

“This will be the largest conclave ever assembled to elect a pope with eighty cardinals. There would have been  eighty-two but owing to his house arrest  József Mindszenty could not travel to Rome, while Carlos Maria de la Torre will not participate due to his advanced age and chronic health problems. Of the cardinals who will participate, eight were elevated by Pope Pius XI [ I ](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pope_Pius_XI), twenty-seven by Pius XII, and the remainder by the recently deceased John XXIII. Each will look to the candidate elevated by the pontiff who they themselves were made Cardinal.”

“I would think that would narrow the numbers dramatically,” Napoleon said.

“The first men whose names have come up in discussion are Leo Joseph Suenens of Mechelen of Brussels and Franz Konig of Vienna,” Spellerman began,”though since they’re not Italian, the chances of them being elected are slim. Rome always favors the Italians.”

“Yes, I believe the last non-Italian elected was Adrian VI, born Adriaan Floriszoon Boeyens, a Dutchman who held the office from 1522 to 1523 for a total of 1 year and 248 days.”

“Very good Mr. Kuryakin, you’ve done your homework,” Spellerman nodded with a smile.

Napoleon couldn’t help but interject.”My partner has a photographic memory and remembers anything he reads.”

Illya qualified that statement,“Most people with eidetic memories have the ability to vividly recall images from memory after only a few instances of exposure with high precision for a brief time after exposure, without using a mnemonic device. I however, remember most everything I read and retain it.”

Neither cardinal reacted, and went back to the topic at hand.

“There is Cardinal Giuseppe Montini,” Wiśniewski added, “but he is a very humble man and in our discussions he has expressed a hesitancy at his name being brought into consideration. There is also Cardinal Grégoire-Pierre Agagianian the former Armenian Catholic Patriarch of Cilicia, Cardinal Giuseppe Siriano of Bologna and Pietro Lercaro of Genoa.

“Backgrounds on these men have been put together rather hastily I’m afraid since these are the names that until only recently have come up in discussion, though a few have been in the running since before Pope John’s passing.” Cardinal Spellerman held up a manila folder.

“Could there be more favorites added to this list?” Illya asked.

He thumbed through the dossiers, focusing on the Italians. That narrowed down the field to just three names, Montini, Siriano and Lecaro if they stuck to the Italians only theory.

The others, as Cardinal Spellerman had indicated were most likely out of the running since historically no non-Italian has ever been elected Pope.

Still one never knew, as there was always was an outside chance their man could be Suenens, König, or Agagianian as THRUSH never followed the rules after all.

“Thank you your Eminence,” Illya said.”There will not be much time to study their backgrounds. “Napoleon and I will have a late night in order to sift through this information for any clues.”

“But first we must attend to Vespers before retiring for the evening,” Szymon said.

“Vespers? I am unfamiliar with that, is it a ceremony and how long will it take?” Illya looked between Szymon and Napoleon.

“Tovarisch, it’s a service of evening prayers, though I’ve never attended vespers myself,” Napoleon answered.

“It lasts approximately an hour, longer if there is a Benediction of the Blessed Sacrament . ” Szymon said.” We will be up early in the morning for a special votive mass in the Pauline Chapel here in the Apostolic Palace to pray for the election for the new pope. After which the procession from the Pauline to the Sistine Chapel will take place and the conclave will begin, but I am getting ahead of myself. Tonight we pray.”

Cardinal Wiśniewski pulled Illya aside, speaking in Russian again.

“ _Perhaps a more detailed explanation of Vespers will help you, how do you say…fake it?”_

That gave Kuryakin pause to let a small smile to escape.

“ _Vespers, Mr. Kurya...ummm Father Kumeiga, opens with the singing or chanting of the words ‘Deus, in adiutorium meum intende. Domine, ad adiuvandum me festina. Gloria Patri, et Filio, et Spiritui Sancto. Sicut erat in principio, et nunc et semper, et in saecula saeculorum. Amen. Alleluia.’  In English, ‘O God, come to my assistance. O Lord, make haste to help me. Glory to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Spirit. As it was in the beginning, is now, and will be forever. Amen. Alleluia.’_

“ _Your Eminence, I understand a fair amount of Latin,_ ” Illya whispered.

_“Oh, excellent...well then, the appointed hymn is then sung. After the psalms, there is a reading from the Bible. Following the reading, there is a short responsory consisting of a verse, a response, the first half only of the Gloria Patri, and then the verse again. Then the participants sing the Magnificat — the canticle of the Blessed Virgin Mary from the Gospel of Luke 1:46-55. The prayers are then said, followed by the Our Father, and then the closing oratio._

_The office is frequently followed by Benediction of the Blessed Sacrament which is the actual benediction or blessing follows exposition of the Blessed Sacrament, that is, the placing of the consecrated Host in a monstrance set upon the al_ _tar. The blessing with the Eucharist is preceded by a reasonable time for readings of the word of God, songs, prayers, and a period for silent prayer.” The readings, songs and prayers are meant to direct attention to worship of Christ in the Eucharist…._

“ _Your Eminence, please, I do not need to know the purpose of the various aspects of the ceremony; I need just enough detail to look like I know what is going on. Will there be some sort of prayer book to follow? I do read Latin as well.”_

“ _Oh? I understand. Yes there will be prayer books. The hymns in Latin traditionally sung during the exposition which are O Salutaris Hostia, Tantum Ergo, Laudate Dominum  and Ave verum corpus. There will be hymnals containing the words to these but as to the melody...that you will, well perhaps you can just mouth the words_?”

Illya smiled for a second time before switching to Polish.

_“I will endeavor to do so. Thank you for your instruction, now I think it is time we ready ourselves before the evening’s festivities.”_

He and Solo retired to their room located near the Cardinal’s quarters. As their assistants they would have to be nearby to see to both men.

Illya pondered about the Vespers, as well as all of the pomp and circumstance surrounding the election of a new Pontiff. It was tedious as well as pure decadence and seemed more of a spectacle leading up to the actual gathering of the Cardinals. He shook his head at the opulence, and the perceived piety of the men tasked with electing their new spiritual leader.  

 

The Orthodox church had its own decadence he supposed. Illya recalled the beautiful iconostasis and decoration within St. Andrew’s church in Kyiv. His recollections were that of a child but still they were warm memories attached to that church, perhaps because he was there with his family.

After Illya sat on his bed, he put on his spectacles and began to read the dossiers they’d been given.

“You okay tovarisch? You seem awfully quiet.”

“I am fine, just a lot of information to absorb, plus we need to divine who is the infiltrator. Napoleon, there might be more than one, a co-conspirator perhaps?”

He smiled at his partner’s unintended pun. “I was thinking the same thing. I’m Catholic but I’m feeling a bit overwhelmed by all of this. To think I’m going to be privy to the election of the next leader of the Catholic church. It’s leaving me in awe, but it won’t prevent me from doing what has to be done, that that I promise you.”

 


	4. Chapter 4

Once the conclave began, the sleeping arrangements would drastically change to more basic accommodations, minimally furnished, actually austere in comparison to what the cardinals had at the moment.

Napoleon and Illya would be required as assistants to room with their respective Cardinals, sleeping in small bedchambers connected to the main quarters should their cardinals need them.

Communication between the partners would be limited and discretion would be necessitated. Still the agents had a way around that problem, something they’d worked together.

Napoleon opted to shower after their long flight while his partner continued through the notes given to them. Once Solo came out of the bathroom, Illya decided it was time for a shower as well, but a cold one as jet lag was setting in; he had started to nod off.

One he was finished, there was barely an hour for both of them to catch cat naps before the call to Vespers came.

Later that evening all the Cardinals, as well as their assistants and others associated with the conclave gathered in the Pauline chapel. Napoleon advised Illya to follow his lead, and that’s exactly what the Russian did.

Unlike the Orthodox church where people stood the entire time, the Catholics did a lot of kneeling, standing and sitting. Illya watched like a hawk to follow along without giving himself away.

At the same time, he and Napoleon were studying the named Cardinals who were within their field of vision for all the good it did as everyone of them looked like pious men, and devoted to their calling.  

After Vespers the cardinals and conclavists were escorted back to their quarters for the evening to take their dinner in their rooms.

Nuns prepared meals of soup, spaghetti with meatballs, along with boiled vegetables on the side; it was similar to that served in hospitals and not very appetizing.

After being served their very spartan dinner in Napoleon’s room, Illya continued to go over the biographies with a fine tooth comb. Where information was lacking, they called via their communicators into the Intelligence Section in the Rome headquarters of UNCLE to try to fill in the gaps.

Napoleon pushed his dinner plate away in disgust.

“Being in Italy one would expect some really good Italian food, but how can they ruin spaghetti?”

“It was not that bad," Illya speared one of Solo’s meatballs from his plate.

“This coming from a man who will eat just about anything.”

“Napoleon, I always say, food is food. When one is hungry you can not always be choosy. Perhaps there is a method to their madness in serving poor quality food, and that is to get the cardinals to hurry in making their decision.”

“That actually makes sense, bad food, spartan sleeping conditions,” Napoleon picked up another folder, leafing through it, but nothing stood out to him.

“Did you know,” Kuryakin continued on the subject of food,” that In 1268, a conclave began that lasted nearly three years, 33 months to be exact. Pope Gregory X was elected pope, but not before residents of Viterbo, north of Rome, tore the roof off the building where the cardinals were staying and restricted their meals to bread and water to make them hurry up.”

“Hoping to avoid a repeat, Gregory decreed in 1274 that cardinals would only get one meal a day if the conclave stretched beyond three days, and served bread, water and wine if it went beyond eight. Thankfully for us his decree was abolished soon after. “

Napoleon chuckled at that thought, knowing his Russian partner’s boundless appetite. He wouldn’t have fared well under such conditions, then again having been held prisoner by THRUSH over the years both he and Illya had been limited to one meal a day if that, and it was never anything palatable.

Illya, in a moment of candor had spoken about his nearly starving to death not only as a child but over the course of his career in espionage. “Such experiences have made me appreciate any meal.”

“Tovarisch, you really have done your homework, though that sort of trivia really won’t help us out much will it?”

“I suppose not, but I did find it interesting reading.” Illya picked up another folder.

There was little that caught their attention in regards to  each of the named papabili, except for Cardinal Siriano.

Oddly enough he’d been in the running to be elected pope in 1958 and there was a rumor he’d actually been elected but was forced to step down in favor of Cardinal Roncalli, who was to become Pope John XXIII. The exact details of that were impossible to find as each member of a conclave was sworn to utter secrecy, and nothing taking place within was ever to be made public by any means.

Other than the question of Siriano supposedly being elected and deposed, each man was squeaky clean, and a beloved religious leader in their respective communities.

It was two in the morning when Napoleon and Illya finally decided to call it quits. They were both exhausted and knew they had a long day ahead of them, and that was before they were even locked inside the Sistine Chapel.

“Illya, this is going to be harder than I thought,” Napoleon sighed. He’d changed into his pajamas and had just crawled into bed. “So I think a little additional subterfuge is in order.”

“What do you have in mind my friend?” Kuryakin had stripped to his underwear, foregoing pajamas as he crawled beneath his bed sheets with a sigh.

“We’ll talk about it in the morning. I need to sleep on it some more. Good night... _Illya?_ ”

Napoleon canted his head to one side; he could hear a light snore coming from his partner and smiled, thinking he had the right idea. It still amazed him how Illya could fall asleep so quickly.

He closed the light and settled in for the night with a deep sigh.

 

When Illya woke just before sunrise he saw his partner creeping back into their room.

“Where were you?”

“I had to speak to Cardinal Spellerman about helping with my plan.”

“At this time of the morning?”

“Hey, this is normal rising time for him; he spends his morning in prayer. We have time for a little more shut eye before we need to get ready. He’s asked me to join him for breakfast, as well as you and Cardinal Wiśniewski.”

“And what is your plan Napoleon?” Illya stretched, he was awake now and had no need to go back to sleep.

“Bugs my dear Kuryakin.”

“Bugs? Ooooh, _bugs._ I understand, “Illya paused,” Napoleon they will be sweeping for bugs ahead of time.”

“I know but we’ll plant ours once the Sistine Chapel has been locked down.”

The Russian nodded his approval.    

 


	5. Chapter 5

The first day of the conclave began with the cardinals, dressed in their scarlet vestments. attending a special Mass in St. Peter’s Basilica known as Pro Eligendo Papa, meaning ‘for electing the Pope’.

  


In the afternoon they proceeded into the Sistine Chapel, led by a choir singing the Litany of Saints, a Gregorian chant imploring the intercession of the saints to help guide the voting.

Napoleon, Illya and the other conclavists followed after the double lines of cardinals, under the watchful eyes of the colorfully dressed Vatican Swiss Guards.

Their presence wasn’t just for show or ritual as they were highly trained and experienced military men serving in the oldest continuously operating unit in the world

Before the procession began Illya of course, just had to fill his partner in about the guards who lined the route to the Sistine Chapel.

“When the Swiss Guard was founded in 1506, halberds were standard issue weapons for foot soldiers. It is a two-handed pole weapon that came to prominent use during the 14th and 15th centuries. “

“Their uniforms were made up of an extremely garish combination of purple and gold and cut in the style of a 15th century jester, these guards added an interesting flair to the Papal office, though their function was far from ceremonial.”

Without letting his partner see, Napoleon took his turn at rolling his eyes. He didn’t stop Illya as it would probably be the most the Russian would be able to speak, as once they entered the chapel, their conversation would be kept to a minimum.

“The guard is formed of 110 officers and men and are the de facto military of the Vatican City, which we know is an independent country of just .17 square miles in size located inside Rome. They are responsible for the security and safety of the Pope as well as the Papal facilities.”

“You don’t say,” Napoleon tried not to snicker. He already knew most of this but when Illya was on a roll, sometimes it was just better to he let him go.

“While the public face of the Swiss Guard is the classic Michelangelo uniform with armor plate, plumes, and Conquistador-style _Morion_ helmets, this was for the benefit of tourists.”

 

“Still, the Swiss Guard receives specialized training in these formidable Renaissance-age weapons, though these are not their only means of defense.

“Located deep inside the barracks of the Swiss Guard is an arsenal of arms with which the soldiers train constantly over the course of their service.

The officers and NCOs of the Swiss Guard are armed with a Dreyse Model 1907 pistol. It is a 7-shot .32 ACP, though ugly it is reliable.”

  


 

“With their long flowing robe-like uniform, the Swiss Guard long ago figured out that a short, compact pistol-caliber subgun could be concealed for those times when things might become dangerous, such as an attempt on the Pope’s life.”

Thank you for that edifying lecture tov...Father,”Napoleon whispered.”Let’s just hope nothing happens to give cause to the Swiss Guards to draw their weapons.”

Napoleon pointed, drawing his partner’s attention as the procession had finally begun to move.

The route to the Sistine Chapel was slow and solemn. The agents dressed in their black cassocks, over which were layered a white knee-length surplus trimmed in lace, vestments traditionally worn over the choir cassock by priests, followed in the procession.

Their heads were covered with the black biretta, a stiff square-shaped hat with silk trim and tuft. It had three ridges called ‘horns’ across the crown; it was the same hat was worn by the cardinals, only theirs were scarlet.

The choir, and Cardinals chanted the _Litaniae Sanctorum_ and they slowly proceeded into the Palace, making their way to the Sistine Chapel.

One by one they all approached the altar beneath Michelangelo's Last Judgment where they would place hands on a bible to take an oath of secrecy in Latin by which they promised and swore to observe with the greatest fidelity and with all persons, secrecy regarding everything that in any way relates to the election of the Roman Pontiff.

 

[https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CP0hE1qPhqg&t=46s&frags=pl%2Cwn](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CP0hE1qPhqg&t=46s&frags=pl%2Cwn)

 

The Cardinal Dean read the oath aloud in full; in order of precedence each cardinal elector repeated that oath, while touching a hand to the Gospels.

_"Et ego, (they said their first name), Cardinalis ( followed by the surname), spondeo, voveo, ac iuro. Sic me Deus adiuvet et haec Sancta Dei Evangelia, quae manu mea tango._

_The rough translation was...And I, (name) Cardinal, promise, vow and swear. Thus, may God help me and these Holy Gospels which I touch with my hand."_

 

Each of those present in the Sistine Chapel took the same sacred oath, which in Solo and Kuryakin’s mind might be a bit problematic when reporting to Alexander Waverly the details of this affair, once it was with hope, successfully concluded.

They too were being sworn to utter secrecy as to what took place within the chapel, for all who took the oath to break it meant excommunication. That meant nothing to Kuryakin, however giving his solemn word to keep his silence did.

The solemn oath that each man took after marching up the aisle one by one, was a ritual that occupied most of the morning session.

After all present had taken the oath, the Master of the Papal Liturgical Celebrations ordered all individuals other than the cardinal electors and conclave participants to leave the chapel.

As tradition dictated, he stood at the door of the Sistine Chapel and called out in latin, _Extra omnes!_  

Which meant roughly in Latin... ‘ _Everybody else, get out!’_  

A homily was delivered on the election of a pope and once done, he too left. Closing the heavy ornate wooden doors behind himself.

It was on the other side that the Camerlengo placed a chain to lock to the doors, which was fixed with lead seals that could not be broken.

 

 

Two of them were used, joined together by the chains. Each was marked ‘conclave’ and on the reverse was imprinted ‘1963’, marking the year of John XXIII’s death.

The Camerlengo, who was the chamberlain appointed by each pope became Church administrator until a new pope was selected.

After a pope died, and was officially declared deceased by a doctor, the Camerlengo resided in the Vatican palace while performing all of his duties, keeping things running smoothly in the Vatican City-State.

When a pope died in office, it was the _Camerlengo_ who made an official determination of death.

Traditionally, he did this by first calling the pope by name, and asking, ‘are you sleeping?’ If he received no response, he tapped a silver hammer three times on the forehead of the deceased pope.

Having confirmed that the Holy Father was indeed dead, the Camerlengo, in the presence of the cardinals, took possession of the Ring of the Fisherman which the Pope wore, and cut it in half with shears to prevent its use until a new pope was elected in the conclave.

Once the chamberlain sealed those doors, they could not be opened again until there was a new Pontiff...

 

Napoleon was accustomed to the ornate rituals of the church but nothing in his upbringing had prepared him for this. As he gazed up at the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel, which he had seen before, it took on a completely different meaning seeing it now under these circumstances.

He was going to be privy to the actual election of the next pope, though it was still his assignment to see it wasn’t a Thrushman elevated to one of the most powerful positions in the world. Napoleon felt humbled being here and his emotions were momentarily running high.

If he was still feeling a bit overwhelmed, he could just imagine what was going through Illya’s little atheist head. They’d have to tread lightly, literally and figuratively, inside the chapel.

He looked about, seeing for the first time how things had been prepared ahead of time for the conclave.

Temporary flooring had been put down to protect the chapel’s original floor, long tables were set up along the length of the walls on either side. The cardinals would be seated on chairs made of cherry wood behind wooden tables covered in satin cloth.

 

At each place was set prayer books, pens and red leather bound books for note taking and ballot papers. All of this, other than the ballots once cast and the accompanying notes,  would eventually be stored after the fact in the Archives, deep within the belly of the Vatican.

The names of nine voting cardinals were chosen at random: three to serve as scrutineers, the others to serve support roles during the vote.

Napoleon sidled over to his partner as they could not stay in the chapel proper, but were to wait nearby behind the lattice screen with the other assistants.

The screen, or transenna, divided the chapel about two-thirds down of the chapel was where the conclavists were sequestered. It didn’t allow for great viewing of the goings on with the cardinal, but Illya had positioned himself close to it to the screen and was able to read the lips of a number of them.

He discreetly used the sign language he and Napoleon had developed for each other, and though his fingers were flying, nothing he reported was of much use.

“Are we sure about this THRUSH infiltration?” He signalled to Napoleon.

“Ours is not to reason why, ours is but to look and listen,” he signalled back.

And so they did, to the point of near boredom.

The discussion and arguments both pro and con for certain candidates still didn’t narrow down to their three suspects.

Periodically, the agents along with a few of the other conclavists would find their eyes drifting upwards, gazing at the astounding artwork above their heads.

 

Unless their respective Cardinals signalled their presence was needed, they were essentially prisoners, not able to leave unless it was to use the men’s room.

The Sistine Chapel was most famous for Michelangelo’s frescoes, but long before Michelangelo, painters such as Botticelli were commissioned to fresco the two long walls of the chapel: one side told the story of Moses, the other the story of Christ. Even without Michelangelo’s work, these earlier paintings still represented one of Europe’s greatest fresco cycles. This made the Chapel one of the most sought after places to visit by the world’s tourists, whether Catholic or not.

During the conclave two Pontifical Swiss Guards were positioned outside the Chapel the locked and sealed doors so there was in essence no other way in or out except for the back of the chapel leading to the quarters for the Cardinals,the conclavists and where the lavatory was located.

There were three levels in the Palace, a high vaulted basement with extra buttresses to support the weight of the chapel above it, and a third floor reserved for quarters for the guards.

The meals were prepared and brought in by nuns, and served to each Cardinal by their conclavists in their quarters or in a dining room located in the _‘Domus Marthae Sanctae_ ,’ a residence in the Vatican, feet away from the chapel. It contained 131 bedrooms, and sitting rooms as well as the dining area.

In the past food was only sent in through a pass through window, but as other rules had changed, so did the matter of meals.

The nuns, numbering only a few were the only ones granted brief access, with no speaking permitted.  Physicians who worked at the Vatican were allowed entry in the event of a medical emergency.

A fair number of the cardinals were up there in years so the chances of a medical problem happening was a definite possibility.

The meals at the Domus were an important gathering. There was no assigned seating, and for many cardinals it’s was the first real chance they have to converse at length with prelates from the other countries and regions. Once the dining room cleared out, smaller and more private conversations would continue into the night. Those unfortunately would be near impossible to monitor as again there were no controls as to which cardinal visited another, or others.

The conclave rules were pretty clear about what was and was not allowed in the cardinal’s conversations.

Under penalty of excommunication, making any pact or promise that would oblige a cardinal to vote for a particular candidate, or deny his vote to a candidate was strictly forbidden. Deals that would promise certain appointments or courses of action if a particular cardinal was elected pope were also forbidden.

What was permitted was the  exchange of views concerning the election and nothing more.

This was broad enough to allow the kind of promotion, plugs and endorsements that circulated quietly in the Domus. The cardinals felt it a duty to do this sort of talking, as without it the conclave could easily stall.

The cardinals talked, lobbied and carefully calculated the chances of their favorite candidate. Lots of wheeling but no dealing.  
  
From the initial group of more vote-getters, the second and third ballots the next morning would thin out the field, narrowing down the numbers. Lunch on day two of a conclave was a crucial moment, when momentum was assessed and votes  shifted to front-runners.  
If a conclave went into day three and beyond, it signaled the original favorites might have lacked the support needed for reaching the necessary two-thirds majority. At that point, the cardinals might turn to other candidates while they kept praying to the Holy Spirit for guidance.

What conversations the agents heard were sometimes forceful, but never angry.

 

It was like listening in to a board meeting from a monstrous corporation. Just as in the outside world some members of the board had more pull than others.

Napoleon and Illya doubted any sort of violent confrontation would happen, and hoped it wouldn’t when they discovered the identity of the THRUSH infiltrator or infiltrators as they were not able to bring their guns into the Sistine chapel.

Then again they couldn’t reveal themselves or the Thrushies as that could create another problem; there was a possibility the interloper or his cohorts were armed.

  
Still Solo and Kuryakin hadn’t left themselves completely defenseless…they listened in on as many of the conversations as best they could since it was impossible to control where each cardinal elector sat, and they couldn’t bug every table.

The discussions revealed nothing, and the candidates that Spellerman and Wiśniewski had indicated were beginning to be mentioned more and more.

 

Returning from the Domus, after all the discussions and waiting, a vote was at last taken at last...

 

After writing down his  choice, each cardinal folded the ballot twice, held it in the air, and carried it to the chapel's altar. There they each declared aloud,

_"I call as my witness Christ the Lord who will be my judge, that my vote is given to the one who before God I think should be elected."_

Each Cardinal placed his ballot on the paten- a silver plate used during a mass that is resting on a chalice

The plate was used to drop the ballot into the chalice.

After bowing before the altar, each man returned to his seat.

 

The use of the paten and chalice for this purpose was significant in two ways: they were the vessels used to serve the sacred bread and wine in Mass and using the plate made it hard for a cardinal to cast more than one ballot.

After all the cardinal electors had voted, the votes were tallied by the three scrutineers, who were chosen from among the cardinal electors by lot at each new vote.  The names of nine voting cardinals had been chosen to serve as scrutineers.

They were seated apart at a table in the front of the Chapel near the altar. It was their job to observe the voting process which required rigorous oversight, either to prevent the occurrence of corruption or genuine mistakes. They were responsible for counting the ballots.

It was perhaps these men on which the UNCLE agents needed to keep an eye.

.

Everyone behind the transenna, including Napoleon and Illya stood, craning their necks as the first scrutineer used the patent as a cover and shook the chalice to mix the ballots that had all been placed within it.

  


 

The next scrutineer then counted the votes without unfolding them.

Bad news...the number of the ballots didn’t match the number of cardinals voting, requiring all the ballots to immediately be burned.This was done by the third scrutineer.  This of course, forced the voting to begin again.

The ballots along with any notes were were incinerated in a special stove that has been installed in one corner of the chapel; made of cast-iron, it stood about three feet high, about nineteen inches in diameter and had been used since the conclave of 1939, which elected Pope Pius XII.

After adding the special chemical to produce the right color, that sent black smoke billowing out of the chimney.

As it wafted in the air, it informed the masses waiting with baited breath and praying as they waited in St. Peter’s Square that the vote had failed to elect a pope.

At first there was a problem with the smoke first appearing white, sending the crowds into a cheer that quickly died down as it finally turned black.

Even Solo and Kuryakin held their breath until it was announced there was no majority.

The time consuming process of the ritual began again with a second round of voting.

 


	6. Chapter 6

Again each cardinal wrote his choice on the paper inscribed with the words in Latin,‘ _Eligo in summum pontificem,’_ which translated to ‘ _I elect as Supreme Pontiff…’_

Again, one by one they approached the altar and spoke the words, _"I call as my witness, Christ the Lord who will be my judge, that my vote is given to the one who, before God, I think should be elected"._

 

Finally, the right number of ballots had been received for this vote and the tallying procedure was repeated.

The first scrutineer took a ballot, noted the name on it, and passed it to the second scrutineer, who noted the name and passed it to the third scrutineer.

The third scrutineer read aloud the name on the ballot, pierced the ballot with a needle through the word _Eligo_ at the top of the paper, and slid the ballot  onto a string of thread.

Once all ballots were read, the scrutineers wrote down the official count on a separate sheet of paper.

“This is excruciating,” Illya whispered to his partner.

“Hey, this is history in the making,”Solo replied.

They had seen nothing so far to prove anything untoward was happening.

Napoleon and Illya continued watching as the third scrutineer knotted the ends of the thread on which the ballots were sewn to preserve the vote.

The ballots were placed in a receptacle and the votes were read, listing which candidates received how many votes.

There was no clear majority, so another vote would be necessary.

A moan of frustration echoed within the Chapel.

After the vote all the ballots and notes were again burned, much to the disappointment of those waiting outside as well as within the chapel.

 

It was then a small break was decided upon for a light meal, and back to start over again.  At this time, the assistants were granted access to the Cardinals to see to their needs.

“Your Eminence,”Napoleon addressed Spellerman. “What happens next?”

“After our break the next round begins with new scrutineers who will replace the original three.”

“That shoots down the idea of hanky panky on their part,” Napoleon leaned over, whispering to his partner. Solo’s thoughts that there might be more than one Thrushie nesting in the conclave was an unsettling but realistic idea.

“One or all of the next scrutineers could be in league with our THRUSH friends.”

“My thoughts exactly, my dear Father Ceasare,” Illya nodded his agreement.

The break gave Napoleon and Illya the opportunity they needed, and with the help of their two accomplice cardinals, they planted bugs on the leading candidates places at the tables.

A few extras were added as well in the event other candidates materialized.

Cardinal Spellerman and Cardinal Wiśniewski allowed listening devices on themselves as well, though they made the UNCLE agents swear that they would not listen if in the event confessions were heard by them or any of the priests who made their confessions.

The devices allowed Napoleon and Illya to listen in on discussions that were happening among the cardinals, though technically it was forbidden, campaigning still happened.

Candidates and their suitability needed to be discussed. Who would be the best men here to lead the Catholic church into the future?

Still it was key words like ‘plan’ and ‘THRUSH’ for which the agents listened. Thrushies had big mouths and liked to chatter, even in whispers.

Without discussing it, Illya planted a bug in the restroom as well as the rooms occupied by the leading Cardinals and their assistants over in the Domus Marthae Sanctae. It was a lot of work, and he needed to do it quickly, forcing him to forego lunch.

Once the break was concluded and everyone returned to the chapel, the campaigning began in earnest.

It resulted in a monumental amount of conversations on which to eavesdrop. The UNCLE communicator pens picked up the signals, and with some fine tuning they could zero in on a specific conversation merely by pointing the pens in the right direction and letting them act as antennae.  

The agents listened in, each wearing a minute earbud not visible to anyone.

It was one of the other bugs that got Illya’s attention; he was seated off to the side pretending to read the bible while he held his communicator his hand. This signal wasn’t strong as it was coming from the lavatory.

Two men, both priests, as all the cardinals were accounted for, were speaking with each other.

He distinctly heard the phrase “time to execute the plan,” though he was unsure who the speakers were. That was when he decided to take a stroll with the excuse of needing to use the loo.

Rather than going inside he stood still outside the door,  carefully listening to the conversation once the sound of a flushing toilet was silenced.

“Did you take care of the ballots?” One man asked.

“They’re ready for when the right vote comes,” came a single reply.

Illya now recognized the voices once he could hear them clearly. They were the conclavists for Cardinal Siriano. One named Father Santoro, and the other Father Minelli, if they were even priests at all.

While doing his eavesdropping, someone came up behind the Russian and hit him hard on the back of the head. Illya dropped to the floor, not unconscious but stunned. He couldn’t see who it was and a second later he felt the prick of a needle in his neck.

The Russian woke in one of the upstairs rooms with a doctor hovering over him, saying he must have passed out and hit his head. “He’sa rather thin, so I might presume that he’sa not eating all his meals. Meager though they are, he should no skip any of them. The stress here will sap one’s energy, so the calories they are needed.”

The physician was speaking to Napoleon but standing beside him was Father Paulo Santoro, one of the Siriano assistants.

“Father Kumiega, I am so relieved you are all right,” Santoro said. “I found you lying unconscious on the floor outside the _gabinetto._ ”

“What happened?” Napoleon asked, though he saw a cautionary glance from Illya.

His head was momentarily fuzzy, but Illya remembered everything quite clearly before being hit on the head and feeling the needle shoved into his neck. Though he’d said nothing about it, thinking it best to play dumb.

“Do you remember anything?” Santoro asked.

“Other than going to use the lavatory, no.”

The doctor held up Illya’s earpiece. “And what may I ask is this?”

Illya pretended to be embarrassed, and in truth he was at letting someone getting the drop on him.

“It is for a radio,”Illya pulled what looked like a small transistor from his trouser pocket.

“News of the outside world isa no permitted, Father Kumeiga. This is a grievous violation of the rules of  conclave and I must report it.” The doctor was quite angry.

If somehow Illya and Napoleon were revealed as impostors, the punishment would most likely be arrest and excommunication. In Napoleon’s case that meant something but to Kuryakin it was an empty threat and held no meaning for him as he wasn’t a Catholic, much less a believer.  

As to being arrested, the ‘get out of jail card’ would be in the hands of Alexander Waverly. It would all be hush hush of course, and the secrets of the Papal conclave would remain intact.

“Oh you misunderstand Doctor,” Illya half smiled,” I have hearing difficulty as a result of a bomb exploding near me when I was child in Poland during the war. My regular hearing aid broke and I use this to amplify sound in order to help me hear. It is not very good as it does have a lot of background noise.”

“Then how is it you hear me now?”

Illya gave a wry smile. “I read lips Doctor. Although for the sake of the conclave I do avert my eyes in order to give the cardinals their privacy, and the signal from this sound amplifier does not carry very far, so I do not hear what the electors are saying.”

“Oh... _ooooh,_ ” **_YOU HAVE MY APOLOGIES,_ **” the doctor raised his voice, thinking it was necessary.

Illya ignored the change in volume of course, “I feel well enough, may I return to my duties?”

“Doctor,” Napoleon interrupted,” there’s no need speak up; he can read your lips, remember?”

“But of course. My apologies, it’s a habit as my mama she is deaf. Now Father Kumeiga, perhaps it’sa not wise for you to go to the Cardinale,” the doctor rubbed his chin with his fingers.”There must be a reason why you fainted.”

Illya gave a dismissive wave.”You were correct in your assumption as I neglected to eat today, perhaps my blood glucose was too low.”

“You have the diabetes?”

“No, but not eating does make me lightheaded from time to time. I did not eat supper last night, nor breakfast this morning as I was fasting while I prayed for the election of our new pope. It is my own fault for neglecting to eat, I should have known better. I suppose the excitement of attending my first Papal conclave made me forgetful. I will see it does not happen again. Now if you will excuse me Doctor, I must see to my cardinal’s needs.

“No, not until you have something to eat. I will have one of the sister’s bring you soup and bread.”

Napoleon cast a wary look to his partner to just go along with it.

“Doctor, I will see that the good Father does exactly that. Now we’ve taken up too much of your valuable time,” Napoleon managed to shoo the physician away along with Father Santoro.

The doctor was correct, being assistant to the cardinals during their arduous tasks, could take its toll, even though most of the priests were far younger than the Cardinal Electors.

The hours the agents had put in since their arrival in Rome had made the assignment quite taxing so far, on top of that, they were both still dealing with jet lag.

“Excuse me Father,” Solo and Illya heard a voice outside the room. She was speaking to Santoro who was still there, apparently trying to do his own eavesdropping.

One of the sisters walked inside carrying a tray with a bowl of chicken broth and a large piece of Italian bread with butter, as well as a cup of tea.

She closed the door after herself, and put her fingers to her lips, signalling Napoleon and Illya to be quiet.

It was none other than April Dancer. She was clothed in a long dark habit, a broad white bib, along with the white headpiece and dark veil of a Franciscan nun and she made it look good.

 

She’d been planted as a backup by Waverly, unbeknownst to Solo and Kuryakin.

The sisters, like the assistants to the Cardinal electors had to be seen and not heard and only appeared with food, or to assist one of the doctors, if needed as they often had nursing skills. They were in no way permitted into the Sistine Chapel.

“Sorry I couldn’t find any raspberry jam for your tea,” she whispered.

Illya spoke softly, telling Napoleon and April of Siriano’s assistants being up to something with the voting ballots, but what that was he hadn’t heard before a third party attacked him.

He could only presume the injection was to make him forget, given Santoro was asking specifically about his memory.

Since Illya had developed a high tolerance to THRUSH drugs, it had no effect on him. It was a logical conclusion that his resistance to it proved it to be THRUSH concoction.

Napoleon brought up the fact that something about one of the scrutineers seemed familiar to him, and at great risk he’d managed to snap a photograph of the man, but had no idea how he was going to get it to headquarters in Rome.

April Dancer’s presence solved that as he slipped the mini camera into her hand, giving it a little squeeze.

“I could kiss you right now,” he whispered.

“Being celibate getting to you darling?”

“Is the Pope Catholic,” he quipped.

“Sorry but I can’t scratch your itch Napoleon, though I wouldn’t mind helping you out,” she flirted.

“You realize you just made my itch worse,” he whispered leaning close to her, if her ear hadn’t been covered with the headpiece and veil, he would have nibbled on it.

Illya, sitting there with his arms crossed in front of himself the whole time, finally spoke up.

“Excuse me, but must I be subjected to this? April will you stop being a cock tease, and you Father Cesare…”Illya wagged a finger at his partner.

“Father Kumiega, your language,” April wagged her finger back at him.

“Yes, ahem,” Napoleon cleared his throat, taking a step back from Dancer, raising the palms of his hands in front of himself.

“April, have the Rome office check our database.

Something is off with this guy. I can’t quite put my finger on it. We need it post haste. I know he’s a Cardinal, and not one of those in the running, but something is floating around in the back of my mind about him. I just can’t put my finger on it.”

April ignored Illya’s warning and gave Solo a peck on the cheek before opening the door.

“Ummm yes Sister thank you. I’ll see that Father Kumeiga eats it all.”  Napoleon raised his voice, for the benefit of Santoro, if in the event he was standing outside.

Luckily he wasn’t there.

  



	7. Chapter 7

It took awhile but the information came back on the Cardinal and it wasn’t what Solo had expected.

Apparently the man, when he was a young priest, had been involved with some sort of scandal involving a boy, the details of which had been covered up by the church.

That information was distasteful to Napoleon; the idea that any man of God, especially one who might be deemed worthy of possibly being elevated to Pope could be guilty of such depravity was disturbing.

There were rumors that always abounded about priests, Solo chose not to believe them as they were hearsay, with no truth to back them. Still, he supposed anything was possible. Having been raised Catholic, his beliefs in the church were strong, but now they had been shaken.

It was something with which he have to wrestle, but not right now; he had to focus on the mission.

Voting continued into a second day ad nauseum, with no clear majority, though the number of candidates were narrowing as predicted to the three Italians.

The ritual of the folded ballot being placed upon the silver paten and slipped into the silver and gold chalice was repeated again and again. Yet there was still no sign of Santoro or Minnelli doing anything.

Up to four rounds of voting were allowed each day after the first day, and a two-thirds majority were needed in order for a pope to be elected.

Illya leaned towards his partner, whispering to him.

“If no one is elected after three days, by Friday afternoon the voting pauses for up to one day.  It resumes and if no pope is elected after another seven ballots, there is another pause, and so on until twelve days of balloting have passed.”

“Twelve days?” Napoleon swallowed hard; his Catholic upbringing had prepared him for some of this... _but twelve days?_

“Do you not know the proceedings of your own church my friend?”

“Well yes, but not quite in this detail. I don’t think I’ve been this celibate in my...well in a _really_ long time.”

“Really Napoleon, it has only been three days.” Kuryakin allowed himself the briefest of wry smiles.

“It feels like a lifetime to me, my nonlibidoist friend.”

“Trust me, my libido is doing just fine. I have it under control,” Illya shot back.

“Oh and I don’t?”

“Have your little black book with you, in your luggage perhaps?”

Solo cringed. “Yeah I do, but it’s not like I’m using it.”

“At the moment,” Illya sneered.

“Well given the circumstances, it really wouldn’t be possible would it tovarisch? I’m pretty sure I’ll survive.”  
“One could only hope,” Illya stared straight ahead, his face now expressionless.

The next round of votes were tallied and finally there was a clear winner... too clear. It was nearly unanimous, Cardinal Sirano would be Pope

Not a surprise to the UNCLE agents, though there seemed in the discussions that Siriano wasn’t the favorite, and for him to have suddenly won by such a large majority of votes seemed highly improbable.

Just how Santoro and Minelli managed it, Napoleon and Illya had no clue. Siriano’s assistants were never near the ballots at any time.

The cardinals were more than willing to accept the results, after all they had faith in their abilities to judge who was suitable to next lead the Catholic church. They had faith in the age old system they used in order to arrive at their choice, thinking it was tamper proof.

“Still a nearly unanimous vote?” Napoleon whispered to Illya.”The tallies of all the previous votes showed no inclination towards Siriano. I didn’t hear anyone pushing for him, did you?”

Illya merely shook his head. His mind was racing as to how to halt the proceedings.

As the ballots were prepared to be burned in order to send up the white smoke, signaling a new Pope had been elected, Cardinal Wiśniewski stood and spoke up.

Illya had whispered to the Cardinal to trust him and demand a show of hands as to who voted for Siriano in order to halt the burning of the ballots.

The scientist in the Russian was trying to figure out what Santoro and Minnelli had meant abouts the ballots being ‘ready.’ What could have been done to them, and when?

 The master of the liturgical ceremonies protested but Wiśniewski insisted, Cardinal Spellerman joined him as did others who knew they did not vote for Siriano. A mere headcount of those who voted for a different candidate would prove something was amiss.

Cardinal Siriano protested with great fervor as did the scrutineers.

“The count was valid and the ballots do not lie,” they insisted.

Wiśniewski and Spellerman called out, “Who voted for this man? We demand a show of hands.”

Barely a half dozen hands were raised, sending shockwaves throughout the conclave. Whispers rose to a cacophony of protests that echoed within the chapel.

Illya and Napoleon approached the scrutineers, asking two other cardinals as well a Spellerman and Wiśniewski if they would please bear witness.

 

Though the scrutineers protested a conclavist touching the ballots, Kuryakin and Solo went through the papers one by one.

Sure enough the majority of them had the name of Siriano written on them, oddly though, they were all written in the same handwriting.

Illya pointed that out to the witnesses and the scrutineers, questioning how that could be? Seconds later he snapped his fingers, realizing what had been done.

He requested a blank ballot and a pen that one of the Cardinals had used and wrote the name of Wiśniewski on the paper, folding it as would have been when the ballot was cast.

He placed it in the chalice, covered it with the paten and gave it a shake. Removing the paper, he reopened it and found that Cardinal Wiśniewski’s name had disappeared and the name of Siriano was now there, again with the same handwriting as the other ballots.

“These papers have been tampered with; I suspect they were chemically treated, as well as the ink in the pens. I think the silver of the chalice activated the chemicals and caused the original names written in a disappearing ink to fade and the already written name of Siriano in some form of invisible ink appear.”

The Cardinals were beside themselves and in the end Siriano and his conclavists were escorted to their quarters and kept under guard.

There was no way to point a finger at the scrutineers so nothing was said about them either by Spellerman, Wiśniewski, or the UNCLE agents. Another trio of scrutineers were selected again at random.

A new round of voting began, this time on plain pieces of paper that were sent in from the outside by the Camerlengo and delivered to Cardinal Spellerman via the pass through window in the dining area. The votes were written in pencil instead of using the pens.

The results of the first four ballots were signaled with black smoke at 11:54 am and 5:47 pm.

Some reform-minded Cardinals initially voted for Leo Joseph Suenens of Mechelen-Brussels and Franz König of Vienna to make the point that the pope did not have to be Italian.

Other conservative cardinals attempted to block Montini's election in the early balloting. Due to the apparent deadlock; Cardinal Montini proposed to withdraw himself from being considered but was silenced by Giovanni Urbani the Patriarch of Venice.

Another Cardinal, Gustavo Testa, an old friend of John XXIII, lost his temper and demanded that the intransigeants stop impeding Montini’s path.

By the fourth ballot Montini needed only four additional votes to obtain the required number.

At last on the fifth ballot on the morning the quiet Cardinal Giovanni Battista Enrico Antonio Maria Montini had been elected Pontiff.

When asked if he accepted his election, Montini replied, _Accepto, in nomine Domini_ \- _I accept, in the name of the Lord."_

The papers were burned in the stove with the proper chemicals added, and smoke appeared to the masses waiting outside in St. Peter’s Square.

At 11:22 am, the white smoke rose from the chimney of the Sistine Chapel, signifying the election of a new pope.

The new Pontiff would take the name Pope Paul the VI.

 

The new Pope was escorted to his new quarters where he donned the appropriate attire of a new Pontiff.

Alfredo Ottaviani, in his capacity as the senior Cardinal Deacon, announced Montini's election in Latin; before he had even finished saying Montini's name, the crowd beneath the balcony of St. Peter's Basilica erupted into applause.

Once Pope Paul VI was revealed on the balcony facing out to St. Peter’s Square, cheers went up at his arrival and his benediction was given.

It was finally over for Napoleon and Illya and they breathed a sigh of relief along with Cardinals Spellerman and Wiśniewski.

The vow of silence the agents had taken regarding the goings on within the papal conclave of 1963 would forever remain secret.

For the Cardinals it was a given, but to Napoleon and Illya it was a conscious decision.  Their presence as operatives of the U.N.C.L.E. had to be forever hidden in order to protect the election results. However, their vow to keep secret regarding what took place within the Sistine Chapel would still be a bit problematic for them, to say the least.

They met for the last time at the Vatican in Cardinal Spellerman’s quarters before all of them would be returning home. This time they were joined by April Dancer, and for proprieties’ sake the three agents were still wearing their religious garb.

Napoleon swore however, he’d be back to civilian wear for the flight home.

“A job well done gentleman, and to you as well Miss Dancer, Spellerman poured a round of drinks for them, scotch, as well as vodka he’d had brought in for Illya and his friend Szymon.

“Hear hear!” They all said, before clinking their glasses together.

“And a toast to the Papacy of Paul VI,” Spellerman said.” We have great hopes for this new shepherd and what he will do for his flocks around the world.”

The all raised their glasses one more time.

“So Mr. Kuryakin, what do you think of the Catholic church, and its ornate trappings that is?” Spellerman asked.

Napoleon held his breath, hoping Illya would mind his p’s and q’s.

“The piety and devotion were most impressive.The rituals reminded me of when I was a young boy attending Orthodox church at St. Andrew’s in Kyiv. To say the least it was all most beautiful.”

“Changed your mind about God perhaps, surely you felt His Presence in the Sistine Chapel?

“I felt something, but I cannot say for sure what it was.”

“Well young man, perhaps that’s a start.” Spellerman held out his hand to the Russian this time and doing as Napoleon had done when they’d first met the Cardinal, Illya knelt and kissed his ring. It was the proper thing to do.

He and Napoleon and April did the same with Cardinal Wiśniewski before bidding their farewells.”

“And I’ll see you next Sunday for mass at St. Patrick’s Cathedral, Napoleon,”Cardinal Spellerman winked at Solo.

“I’ll try my best your Eminence, but if duty calls…”

“I understand my son,” he made the sign of the cross and Napoleon immediately blessed himself.

As they retreated from the Vatican, Solo questioned his partner.

“So tovarisch, in the Sistine Chapel, you really felt something?”

“Yes, it was absolute boredom. I hope to never witness another Papal Conclave again as long as I live.”

Napoleon laughed,” Honestly, me too.”

“You were _bored?_ I was stuck in a kitchen all day with a bunch of penguins who were the worst conversationalists I’d ever met,” April laughed.

“Penguins?” Illya asked. “You were at a zoo?”

Napoleon belly laughed at that one. “No Illya, that’s a nickname that people sometimes use to refer to nuns because of their habits often being black and white.”

“Oh...interesting,” Kuryakin nodded, but managed to shrug his indifference.

Before they left Rome, they found out that Siriano was to be dealt with by the Vatican, though he wasn’t arrested.

He’d been reminded of his oath not to reveal what had happened there in the conclave.

Siriano would be sent off into forced retirement, though not excommunicated.The new pope was a gentle and more than forgiving man in regards to the matter.

Illya suspected it was Siriano himself who jabbed him in the neck with that syringe, though again there was no proof. One could only hope it was him, otherwise there was another Thrushie unaccounted for.

However, other than the vow, what was said to Siriano to maintain the secrecy of the conclave and never to be spoken of publicly of what had happened was not revealed to Solo and Kuryakin.

They supposed it was in his best interests to remain silent, not because of the vow he took, but because of his involvement with THRUSH.

The Masters of the Ceremonies who prepared the ballots bearing the word. _Eligo in Summum Pontificem_ were later questioned but were deemed innocent of any wrongdoing.

The church had found no proof positive who had tampered with the ballots.

The UNCLE agents couldn’t reveal Siriano’s conclavists were actually the culprits and servants of THRUSH, without giving away their own identities and possibly negating the entire election process of Cardinal Montini.

Napoleon and Illya weren’t priests after all, yet they’d born witness to the inner workings of the most sacred of events within the Catholic church and had to abide by the oath of secrecy they swore. That was their decision, now as to how they’d handle the matter in their report to Mister Waverly would require a bit of strategy.

Siriano being a member of the Hierarchy since its inception was doubtful, but he was most likely recruited and moved up the ranks, waiting for the next opportunity for him to assume the mantle of Pontiff, with THRUSH’s help since his previous attempt to be elected pope in 1958 had failed.

The UNCLE agents had to take satisfaction in preventing a THRUSH puppet from being elected pope and that would have to do.

It wasn’t until afterwards that rumors began to fly again about Siriano having been elected but then deposed for another to assume the papal throne just as it had happened in the 1958 Papal election.

When asked, Cardinal Siriano denied it and was quotes as saying, _“The vow of secrecy is_ _inviolable. I will say no more.”_

 

Upon their return from Rome to New York, Solo, Kuryakin and Dancer were made aware that Cardinal Sirano, along with both his assistants had died in a tragic accident; their car had gone off the road on the Stelvio Pass in the Italian Alps. No one survived.

There was no THRUSH chatter on this one, making Napoleon and Illya wonder if it had been them, or the Vatican who’d might taken care of Siriano. The accident seemed all too convenient. Still, THRUSH generally didn’t like to broadcast their failures.

The idea that the church might be capable of murder was something Solo didn’t care to dwell upon; after the things he’d learned, he was now wrestling with the sanctity of the church. Though he reminded himself of the infamous Borgias as well as the Medici’s involvement with the papacy. Libertine behavior, nepotism, intrigues, orgies and skulduggery took place during the pontificates of seven infamous popes.

Then again, Napoleon reminded himself  as well, that the church was controlled by men and men were fallible. According to church dogma there was the matter of papal infallibility, which ‘preserved the pope from the possibility of error in the exercise of his office as shepherd and teacher of all Christians.’  

Still he wasn’t quite sure about that now, as the Pope was just a man. Thinking that was blasphemy, but then again Solo reminded himself that he was a spy and had to sometimes kill people for a living, so that blasphemous thought wasn’t all that terrible by comparison.

Napoleon snickered to himself, thinking he was probably going to hell anyway. Still, in his heart he couldn’t help but ask for forgiveness. What he did as an U.N.C.L.E. agent was for the greater good.

Kuryakin on the other hand, saw the Catholic church as something of a monstrosity, lost in its endless decadence and ceremony like Maurits Escher’s lithograph ‘Relativity.’ It depicts a world in which the normal laws of gravity do not apply. The architectural structure seems to be the centre of an idyllic community, with most of its inhabitants casually going about their ordinary business, oblivious to the rest of the world.

The Vatican was a world unto itself, an incongruous juxtaposition of piety and politics, with backdoor dealings, manipulations and threats as much as part of the daily routine as mass.

It wasn’t squeaky clean by any means. Though it was a religious icon and above reproach, it was still involved men who had their weaknesses and frailties. That was something both the American and Russian agreed upon.

Napoleon and Illya filed a very short report with the Old Man upon their return to New York, leaving out the details of what exactly took place in the conclave, staying true to the vow of silence to which they’d been sworn. That was their decision on how to best keep their word.

Solo figured since it was an oath to God, it superseded his oath to UNCLE. Illya on the other hand kept quiet merely because he was a man of his word and not a breaker of oaths. To him, remaining silent in this case didn’t interfere with his oath to the Command.

The partners sat in their shared office, catching up on some of the paperwork they’d abandoned before leaving for Rome. Well actually it was Illya doing the work, with his thin fingers typing away, ‘clackity-clack’ on his keyboard.

Napoleon was thumbing through his little black book while taking a break from sorting through his own pile of papers.

“Lining up your dates already?”Illya asked.

“What do you think?” His partner smiled.

Lisa Rogers’ voice came over the public address system interrupting their conversation.

“Mr. Solo and Mr. Kuryakin, please report to Mr. Waverly’s conference room immediately.”

Napoleon was the first to pick up the black house phone.

“On our way.”

They arrived in only a few minutes and were instructed to be seated at the oversized round table, opposite Mr. Waverly.

After reading their report on the Vatican Affair, the Old Man seemed a bit concerned and had requested their presence to go over what he suspected to be quite a bit of missing information.

“Mr. Solo given the gravity of this assignment, I find it odd that your report is exceedingly brief.”

“What can I say sir, it was all pretty complicated given the ritual through which a pope is elected; it wasn’t until after several rounds of voting that Cardinal Montini was selected. The man we suspected of being involved with THRUSH never stood a chance at winning.”

Waverly seemed perplexed.” And how did you surmise it was Cardinal Siriano and not this Montini fellow who was THRUSH?”

“It was the conclavists for Siriano who gave their Cardinal away, inadvertently,” Illya said. “I heard them whispering in the lavatory.” He figured that wasn’t under the auspices of the conclave, it being only the loo. Still he didn’t say exactly what he’d heard to Mr. Waverly.

“How the devil was Siriano not elected then since that was THRUSH’s apparent plan?”

“It was Cardinals Spellerman and Wiśniewski who orchestrated the push; they pleaded a strong case for Montini and were able to sway the others,” Napoleon responded, though it was in good part a lie.

“Other than that bit of political maneuvering the whole process of electing a Pope was quite tedious,” Illya added. “One can only stare at the Sistine Chapel or read a bible for so long.”

“Hmm,” Waverly frowned before proceeding to tap his pipe bowl into the crystal ashtray in front of himself, emptying the contents.

“Why do I suspect you gentlemen are over simplifying this entire affair?”

“Mr. Waverly, the ceremonies, rituals and prayers as well as the bourgeois decadence of the Catholic church are so completely complex that if we wrote every little detail of what took place during the conclave, then we would have enough information to compose a rather uninteresting novel,” Illya deadpanned.

“Yes sir, Scout’s honor on that,” Napoleon nodded. His look was as deadpan as his partner's.

Alexander Waverly knew he was being had on this one, but since the results were favorable, he saw it as pointless to pursue the matter further.

“Very well gentlemen. Seeing as how this assignment was so enervating, I have one for you that should be a little less tiresome. Pack your suitcases for a colder climate. I’m sending you to a monastery in in Switzerland. I want you to check on the welfare of the Abbot there who is a friend of mine.

“A monastery?” Napoleon swallowed hard.

“Yes Mr. Solo visiting it might be good for you as it were. Plenty of good fresh mountain air, at least you won’t be locked up like you were in the Sistine Chapel. You are still in celibate mode after being in the Vatican, aren’t you?” There was a twinkle in Waverly’s eyes upon saying that.

“Your flight leaves at eight this evening, that will give you time to pack and get a little rest before you depart, and oh bring me back a case of Aquitaine from Abbot John upon your return, if you please? A delicious aperitif made by the Monks of St Thomas.*

Illya not missing a beat, flashed his partner a sly look as they headed out the door.

Walking side by side, Napoleon looked at his wristwatch.

“What is going on in that head of yours my friend?”  Illya asked.”Wait, forget it, I know what is on your mind.”

“Oh becoming a mind reader now?”

“No but I am a student of the Solo condition I suppose.”

Napoleon shrugged. “Well it’s been a while and I do have time. "

“You my friend are beyond incorrigible.”

 _"Te futueo et caballum tuum,_ " Napoleon made his retort in Latin.

 _ **"** Fac ut gaudeam!"_ Illya dared him.

That made Solo burst out laughing,“I have still have an itch and Candy Sweets is going to scratch it for me” Napoleon grinned as he headed in the direction of the Map Room. This time of day he knew she’d be there.

“And how sweet she is,” he called  as he disappeared around the corner.

All Kuryakin could do was roll his eyes; he’d lost count at how many times he’d done that little maneuver.

The word _incorrigible_ suddenly seemed insufficient in reference to his partner.

Illya decided to find a better one and that sent him back to their office to pull out his Thesaurus…

“Hmmm,” he set the heavy book on his desk top with a thud and began to read words aloud. “ _Hardened, abandoned, beastly, incurable, intractable, inveterate, irredeemable, irreparable, recidivist, uncorrectable, unreformed, wicked.”_

 _Wicked,_ and _incurable_ seemed the best, but at the moment Illya couldn’t decide between the two.

 

* ref to The Monks of St. Thomas Affair.

_Te futueo et caballum tuum - translates to : 'Screw you, and the horse you rode in on.'_

__Fac ut gaudeam -translates to:'Make my day.'_ _

 

 

 


End file.
